A while back, I posted an entry about fantasy and why I believe I have an affinity for it. Of course, fantasy isn’t the sole genre I read. In truth I read a rather wide variety of things, some of which I enjoy, some of which I really don’t, but I’ll give most things a shot.

I could probably go on for quite some time about a whole bunch of different genres, but I’ll save thoughts on others for another time, mostly to conserve space for the time being. Instead I’d like to focus on just two this time around. Fantasy is often lumped with science fiction, and so I feel obligated to say something there, and along with that, I’ve taken on another favorite genre – historical fiction.

I’ll start with the latter. History has never really been my subject – in truth, it wasn’t until late high school-slash-my first years of college that I even had much of an appreciation for history. Now I find it interesting – I chalk a lot of this up to a few history teachers I’ve had that have done an excellent job and really made me look at history in a different light. As a result, I’ve found historical fiction moving up my list of favorite genres.

I think part of the reason why is the same reason I like fantasy – though historical fiction is based in fact, rather than fantasy which is in a whole other imagined world, historical fiction is still detached enough from our own that it feels like another world. And in this, it continues to prove the timelessness of certain values, that there are things that transcend our own location, that there /are/ morals that last and aren’t solely the product of the culture one is in. What I love about fantasy is the lessons that can be learned and the truths that can be seen regardless of the place and time – even in another world entirely that’s completely foreign, some things still remain. It’s the same with stories set in past periods of time, whether it’s Celtic Ireland, medieval Britain or Renaissance Italy.

Science fiction can prove this too – in fact, I wrote a paper on the subject back in high school, on why an author we studied then chose to use a futuristic setting in many of his stories. I have a great respect for science fiction – as I’ve stated before, it tends to be lumped with fantasy, and the line where the two become distinct from each other is indeed rather thin and blurry at times. Yet I find myself with less of a liking for science fiction than fantasy, and I think I finally hit upon the reason why. Don’t get me wrong, there’s certain sci-fi stories I have a great liking for: Lewis’s Space Trilogy rapidly comes to mind. There’s something in sci-fi that appeals to my scientific side, and that’s a fairly large part of who I am.

Even so, there is something about sci-fi that turns me off as well. To me, it places far too much stock in what man is capable of. In other words, it loses something of the other-worldly-ness that I like in fantasy, and even historical fiction, because there’s less room for God and the spiritual side of things in it. There tends to be too much mind and not enough heart, I feel. Again, there’s sci-fi that I’ve read that I don’t feel this about, sci-fi as a whole doesn’t always fall into this ‘trap.’ Still, that’s what I feel is missing from sci-fi that makes it less appealing for me – the unexplainable is gone, because there’s a scientific explanation for it all. There’s no mystery, no intrigue, no sense that there’s something beyond it all, because it’s all boiled down to scientific fact. It’s a tricky balance to run, and I feel a lot of the sci-fi I’ve read falls a little flat in that respect.

Of course, this is only the opinion of one college student, with no proper English degree training. So take those thoughts as you will.

However, I’d like to contest this.

I think that at its heart, /any/ good novel is character driven. Sure, the plot may be more important to the story, but what use is a good plot without characters a reader can /care/ about? Then it simply becomes a structure, a formula for what might make a good story if the right people are inserted. As for a theme driven novel, why should we /care/ about the theme if it affects characters we can’t relate to? Why should we pay attention to the theme if the characters aren’t anybody we can see ourselves in?

As a book on writing I recently got my hands on claims in its very title, ‘Fiction is Folks.’

I’ve been told fairly often that one of my writing strengths is crafting my characters, so I suppose I’m more inclined to notice this sort of thing than others might. But it’s true, no matter how awesome the plot is, no matter how brilliant a truth you’re demonstrating, it all falls flat if the reader doesn’t connect to the character.

That doesn’t mean that a reader has to /like/ every character. But they have to be /believeable/.

I spend a lot of time thinking over my characters, trying to figure out why they do what they do, every little nuance of their personality. Most of it probably won’t show up in the story itself, but knowing every in and out of your characters really helps to write them – it allows you to add the little touches, the little details that really flesh out a character.

There are various ways to do this, of course, and I use different tactics myself depending on the situation. For instance, I journal from the point of view of a character I’m writing. I take a scene, give him time to think, and then let him reflect back on the scene he’s just lived through and give him a chance to vocalize his thoughts in a format that he /knows/ nobody else will see. I only use this for the type of character who /would/ keep a journal, though – not necessarily ones that /do/, but the potential is there.

Other times, I simply write extra scenes. I dump the character I want to know into all sorts of situations, alone or with other characters, to see how he reacts. Who knows if I’ll use any of them in the novel itself, but it really does help to get a grasp on exactly who each character is.

I’m not sure where else I’m going at this point, but it really /is/ important to make characters believeable. Know what makes them tick. Why they act as they do. What it is that they hide from everybody else. How much of it you /show/ is up to you, but the better you yourself know your characters, the better it will show in your writing.

Except for when it’s not.

See, I came to a realization today. I like stories that don’t start at the beginning.

So many authors write linearly. And there’s nothing wrong with that, that’s how we live life. Things go from one thing to the next in a sequential, logical order. But it’s not the only way to tell a story… nor, in certain cases, I think, is it the best way to tell a story.

One of my favorite authors plays with this sort of thing /all/ the time. He starts in the middle, has the hero explain the beginning in some manner, and then moves on to the ending. Or he’ll go from the beginning to the ending and then flesh in the middle. Or he’ll play with two parallel storylines, essentially the beginning and the ending, and tie them together with the middle.

Another of my favorite authors tends to leave you guessing as to exactly what the beginning, middle and ending is. Many of his books interweave, but it’s hard to pinpoint which one is the true ‘first’ book – there’s a chronological order, but storywise there’s certainly argument for reading them ‘out of order.’ And another recent book of his starts in the middle, and the ending consists of figuring out what the beginning was, in essence.

Writing things ‘out of order’ in such a manner can be a tricky thing to pull off – I know, I’ve tried. And still try, I think it’s my favorite writing trick to work with. It can be confusing for readers if not executed properly, but when it is done well, it’s such a rewarding technique.

Now the question. Why? If time is a linear thing, going from one thing to the next, why is it that so many great stories, going as far back as the Greek epics, are /not/ written sequentially?

I think the answer lies in the fact that though it marches on in one direction, the interaction between the past, present, and future are not as straightforward as we might like to believe. It is easy to see how the past affects the present and future. Our choices we’ve made inevitably leads to the consequences we deal with later on. But so too can the future affect the past – what we learn in the future can easily change our perception of events that occurred in our past. Though it moves in only one direction, the relationship between past, present and future is anything but limited. And I think that perhaps writing ‘out of order’ is sometimes the best way to tell a story – to show exactly how the past and the future come together and affect the present.

Stories that don’t quite end at the ‘ending’ also leave the reader with something to think about – it’s a story that sticks with you. Seeing how events weave together to form the pattern of the story sometimes means coming at the middle from both sides – or saving the beginning until after you’ve seen the ending. Story isn’t limited by the onward march of time – sometimes what may best help to reveal what you want a story to show is to start somewhere other than the beginning.

Writing something with her rather than getting her help improving my own writing, however, is a different matter.

Recently we decided to co-author something together. We’ve been bouncing plot points and themes and such off of each other for several days now, and we’re both excited to get started with the actual writing. But I’m seeing subtle differences between discussing my own writing and our writing.

Part of the reason we decided to do something together was because our writing styles are very similar. Though we both have different strengths, the way our prose sounds and flows tend to be similar. This probably stems from the fact that we have similar taste in authors and reading material, and that’s reflected in our own writing. But it seems to me that such similarities are important when it comes to co-authoring pairs. That way, there can be less worry about it sounding like two authors trying to write the same story, and more about the story itself.

That, too, is another difference. With my own writing, I’m more free to disagree with the opinions of others, including my writing consultant. I can write as I see fit, and though I would be wise to listen to the advice of others with experience, I don’t have to take it if I don’t think it would work well with what I’m trying to accomplish. Writing something with another, the both of you have to be pleased with where it’s going. There’s more give and take involved. I may want to write one scene one way, she might want to do it another – and we’ll never get anywhere if we can’t find something in the middle we’d both feel satisfied with.

Similarities in writing style and thought process can help eliminate part of that, but I’m sure we’ll come across several parts in which we have differing opinions in the approach. Judging from what we’ve discussed thus far, though, I’d say we’ll definitely be able to find something in the middle we can both work with.

Writing is a collaborative process no matter how you look at it. What one writes needs to be readable. And whether it’s the public at large or a small few who give their advice for improvements, their thoughts should be taken into account when pressing forward at the work of developing one’s craft. Co-authoring isn’t for everyone, nor is it for every pair. But find something that works, and it can be a lot of fun. Despite the fact we haven’t actually written anything yet, we do have our plot mostly sorted out, and I can tell that working on this project will be quite different from working on my own individual stories. There’s advantages to both, though, and lessons to be learned.

I look forward to seeing what co-authoring leads to.

Anyway, back to the subject at hand. Being a Christian myself, I read a lot about Christianity as a whole. Whether it’s the more serious and scholarly works or the increasingly broad genre that is Christian fiction. This being a blog focused on writing, I’m naturally going to focus on the latter.

Fiction is a great way to get a point across, or show the truth of something. It’s a wonderful tool to help people understand things in a different way. And using fiction for Christian purposes is no exception – Jesus Himself spoke in parables, after all, which are a form of story.

How does one go about doing so, though?

I’ve read a range of Christian fiction, and though I’m no expert I’m starting to see what works in my mind and what doesn’t. Recently I read the first of a trilogy aimed towards young adults with Christian themes. It wasn’t all that bad, and it was decently written, but about halfway through I realized what was rubbing me the wrong way about it.

It was far too obvious. I could see clearly exactly what the author wanted me to get out of the book.

There’s a fine line to walk when Christian authors write about themes of their faith. Many these days follow the pattern I saw in the book I recently read – making their point rather obvious. This can be good for a few reasons – it makes it clear where the author stands, for example, and that’s always a nice thing to know. But there are downsides to doing so as well, and I think a lot of Christian authors tend to ignore those.

Part of the beauty of fiction is that what an author has in mind while writing it and what a reader gets out of it may be two separate things. A reader may see subtle things the author didn’t think about and draw a new conclusion from them, and in the same manner, may overlook something the author hoped they’d find. Making things too blatant takes away the reader’s freedom to interpret it as they see, in part – they’re told that THIS is what I want you to get out of it. It feels more like force-feeding than allowing one to draw their own conclusions. And when a lesson is taught or a truth revealed, it’s far more effective when the one learning makes the connection themselves, rather than being told outright.

So too does it make the work more forgettable. Every time a reader reads a blatant book, they’ll see the same thing over and over and over again. Whereas with a more indirect and subtle approach, they’ll be able to pull something new out of the book every time. The book, in essence, grows along with them, and as they learn new things they’ll be able to see new things within the less in-your-face book as well.

I can hear opposing arguments already… those that don’t want to run the risk of people missing what they’re trying to say, those who say they feel ‘cheated’ when they discover themes they might not agree with that they didn’t notice at first. I’ve seen the Chronicles of Narnia, some of my own favorite books, bashed numerous times because of this fact – people love them as a child, then see the Christian themes Lewis wrote into them as they grow older and feel like they’ve been ‘tricked’ into reading a Christian book.

But here’s the thing. Regardless of whether you feel ‘tricked’ or not, whether you agree with them or not… at least it gets you THINKING.

This is the heart of the matter, I think. A reader should be able to put down a book once they’ve finished reading, and yet still have it running through their minds. The best books are those that leave you with things to think about, and an obvious book simply can’t allow you to do that. It becomes all the more important in a book of Christian fiction, I think. Every person’s walk is different, and an obvious book feels more like a force-feeding than a gentle leading as I feel it should be. I don’t want a book that beats me over the head with the obvious – I want a book that I can think about, wrestle with, draw new conclusions out of it, /work/ to really understand it as best I can. That is the sort of book I will keep on my shelf and will come back to time and time again, rather than read it once, think ‘That was a good story,’ and then promptly let it gather dust on my shelf or give it away.

We are writers, and we write to make our voice heard. But if we shout too loudly, nobody will listen to the heart beneath it and only hear the words themselves. If we speak gently, though, taking our time and not smacking somebody upside the head with it, we shall be heard more willingly, and give people the chance to not only hear but to /feel/ as well.

I’ve written a few pieces that contain a lot of themes pertaining to my faith, and some are far more obvious than others. But however overt I make them, I do my best to leave those who read them with something to /think/ about. The end of a story shouldn’t be the end of what one learns from it. I can’t say I’ve always succeeded, but it’s always on my mind when I write – will this be a piece people REMEMBER, or will it just be one that’s read once, and then promptly left to collect dust?

I hope it’s the former. Because only then will I really be an author, taking my experiences and voicing what I have seen in them and what I have learned from them to the world, and challenging other people to think about the world as I do, even if it’s not the way they might see things. Otherwise, I am only another voice shouting helplessly to the wind.

Anyway, so I’ve been busy trying to construct a convincing world/setting for the trilogy I’m working on. There’s a lot more to consider than I first expected. It’s taken me several months to finally settle on a solid backstory for it… which could fill a novel or two of its own, really. There may be need for a old, lost language for this story, and I’ve got a whole realm to attempt to write convincingly, which I can’t do if I don’t even know it myself…

In short, I’ve come to discover that a writer must be more than a writer. He (or she, again, stupid English and its lack of a gender-neutral third person pronoun for such things) must be much more versatile than that. A writer must be a linguist. Of course I’d mention this, being a linguistics major myself. But writers must be well aware of the meanings of the words they use, to know what sorts of thoughts and feelings they evoke, in order to be able to craft the best possibly work they can. They must understand the semantics of the words they use, know the syntax to put them together properly, and have a good enough understanding of phonology to make it sound appealing.

A writer must be a historian. Sometimes this is because they are writing a piece that is covering a large span of time, but I argue that any writer, even of a short story, must be a historian of some sort. Writers must be able to see how events come together to cause other events, and be able to step back and see what the big picture is like. And also, they must see the past of the story that they have set up through to a logical conclusion. Like a historian, they must look into their story and see a logical progression of events – what caused what, what resulted from what, and what it all means.

A writer must be a psychologist. A cast of characters with no depth is very uninteresting to a reader. Writers must be able to delve into the minds of their characters, understand why they do what they do, and write them in a way that is true to their unique characteristics. They must know their characters inside and out, and know all the little nuances of how their minds work.

A writer must be a scientist. I don’t mean that they have to have any scientific prowess. I mean that writers must experiment – try this style, this device, this sort of character, this word, plot, or theme, observe what happens because of it, and use it to further their study. So too must they be logical – no matter how silly a story may be, it will be extremely difficult for readers if there is no underlying logic whatsoever. Oftentimes writing and improving craft takes research, and oftentimes such research must be taken on by the writer himself.

A writer must be an artist. Writers need to be able to paint a picture with their words, and make a statement through it. A quickly-scrawled out, obviously uncared for drawing won’t attract anybody’s attention. Nor will something with no meaning to it hold any significance to anybody.

Above all, though, I think a writer must be someone who loves seeking knowledge. Someone who is constantly learning and truly loves learning is the best sort of writer, because there are so many things out there to learn, and therefore much that can be applied to writing. Sure, we all have our preferences when it comes to subject matter – history never was my strong point, for example, while the sciences treated me very well – but it shouldn’t keep our love of learning down.

Ultimately, the writer must take all they have learned, make sense of it, and use thier writing to proclaim to the world what they have seen within it. At least, that’s what I think.

And the more we learn, the more we have to say. So here’s to well-rounded writing, and the many facets of an author!

This past Friday I found myself extremely restless. I had a thing or two I had to get done that day anyway, so I went out to do it.

My intended half hour errand running turned into a three-hour exploration of a part of campus I don’t frequent, and the lands beyond it.

Came back with a nice hankering to write.

Long story short, I realized that day just what an influence a writer’s environment has on him. (Or her… darn English with its lack of a gender neutral singular pronoun!!) By exploring a part of campus I’m not usually around, I got to see a slightly different perspective of the campus and the surrounding area, and in doing so found inspiration.

That’s part of what I love about being a writer on a college campus. There’s no lack of environments. I can write outside under cherry trees, I can write inside in nearly any atmosphere you can think of. There’s such a variety of places to write here, and each of them suits a different purpose. Of course, it’s hard to consistently write outside in a part of the country where it’s wet 67% of the time and threatening to be wet another 20% or so… but hey, that’s life.

That’s also the advantage of notebooks, I’ve found. They’re a lot easier to carry around than a computer, and can be reliably used in a bunch more places than a computer can.

So if I can offer some advice, amateur that I am, let it be this: if you’re struggling with writer’s block, change your environment. Get up and move someplace different. Move from a bright open space to a dimly lit room, from a spot with a rainy, gloomy view to a warm crackling fireplace. Switch on some music – or turn it off. Move someplace busier, or someplace quieter. Give yourself a different set of factors to work with, and find what works best for what sort of writing you want to do.

It really makes a difference.

I love fantasy. I think it’s my favorite genre, though I like several and read from many more. From what I see, though, fantasy seems to be either a hit or miss with people – either they really like it, or they don’t care for it at all. In varying degrees on both sides, too – some are obsessed with it and take it perhaps more seriously than they should, whereas others simply enjoy reading it. On the other hand, some simply don’t care for it, and others vehemently express their dislike for it.

Of course, what such opinions boil down to is why.

I think what it really boils down to is the other world aspect of it. Some world that isn’t our own, whether it’s connected or not, that exists somewhere and holds its own history, culture, etc., etc., etc… everything that I’m struggling to build for my own work. I think this is what turns people off to fantasy, though – they find it too fantastic (gah, bad word choice there), too far-fetched, simply unrealistic.

I, on the other hand, and several others I’m sure, see it the exact opposite way. For me, it’s a tangible reminder that there IS another world out there just beyond me reach – God’s Kingdom. Perhaps it touches ours at times, at others not. But fantasy tends to put me in touch with the fact that I am in this world, but not of it. That I am as an alien here, that I am a foreigner.

There’s always the pang of longing whenever I read fantasy. Just how awesome would it be to open a door and have an adventure in a realm where things only imagined are realities? To turn a corner and suddenly find yourself in the midst of something great that you never even knew existed? In my mind, these pangs are reminiscent of the things I think I’d feel in Heaven. Of course, I’ll never know until that day comes, but I think that’s what draws me to fantasy – it helps me remember there is something more than just what I can see on the surface, and when the time is right, I’ll catch a glimpse of it myself.

C. S. Lewis once wrote that if we have a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, then the only logical conclusion is that we are made for another. I don’t have the quote handy, else I’d quote it directly (and I’ll be sure to once I can), but I can’t help but think of it every time I read fantasy. Exploring other worlds reminds me of both the reminder that there is something beyond this world, and the pang of longing to see another world. No fictional world I’ve encountered, though, ever comes close to fulfilling that pang – because I always must return here, and this world doesn’t fully satisfy either. One day, though, one day… one day I’ll truly see a New World, and be able to stay there.

And oh, what a Story that will be.

I have noticed my characters take on minds of their own. I’ve been told repeatedly that my strength when it comes to writing is character – that they feel real and believable. I suppose, then, that it’s only expected that they run away with me in tow.

For example, I was busily typing up a heated, somewhat tense scene when I discovered the next word my character was going to say was one word I wouldn’t use myself, let alone type in a novel.

Apparently one of my characters has a big swearing problem when he’s worked up enough. It’s become interesting trying to deal with such.

And then my main female protagonist did something earlier than I expected her to, which gave me MASSIVE writer’s block for a while, because I had to figure out how everybody would react to it. It took some messing with to get things back on track.

It’s a good thing in some ways, as it means my characters are really defined people and not just flat, two-dimensional representations on paper… but it’s so ANNOYING when they don’t work the way I want them to!

Who am I? I’m simply another college student clawing his way through school in an attempt to make a name for himself in this world. I’m a linguistics major, a student, a writer, and a Christian – and proud of all of those.

Why in the world am I doing this? Partly as a way to organize my thoughts. And partly to get a perspective on the world of reading and writing. See, this month (November 2008, for future reference) I’m taking part in National Novel Writing Month, NaNoWriMo for short. The basic idea is to write a 50,000 word novel in one month – at least the draft of one. I managed to pass 50,000 only 14 days into the month, and I’m still going. My plot idea turned itself into a trilogy, one that I think might have some potential down the road as far as possibly getting published goes. So I started this up to keep track of my thoughts as I journey down the road of writing, editing, maybe publishing, and everything that goes along with it.

Why the name ‘Beyond the Mere Words?’ Because there’s so much more to expression than plain ol’ words. I’m a musician as well as a writer, and there are some things that I feel music can express better than words. In fact, I believe there’s things out there words simply can’t convey. I think it’s part of an author’s job and craft to express things in a medium that is both limitless and limited. The challenge of describing ideas words can’t do justice to using words anyway is both difficult and rewarding, and it’s that idea that fascinates me. But there is much more to meaning than the mere words – we need to look beyond them, because words aren’t always enough.

And why RoaringLion? Well, why not? More seriously, sometimes sound and music can put things better than words can, and the feelings I get from the roar of a lion (at least when I’m assured said lion roaring isn’t coming to get me) are just awesome. I’m rather a big fan of C. S. Lewis, and if you’re in any way familiar with his work, you might just know what I’m talking about.

So, that’s me and the blog in a nutshell. Poke around, and I hope you find at least something interesting and thought provoking amidst my wandering blatherings.